


After Update

by Emilys_List



Category: Saturday Night Live, Saturday Night Live RPF
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:02:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilys_List/pseuds/Emilys_List
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here's the summary: I momentarily lost my head. Or, what happens to Seth and Stefon after Seth breaks up Stefon's wedding to Anderson Cooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Update

After, they're making out and being dragged offstage so setup for the next sketch can begin. He's done for the night and he doesn't want to attend the afterparty, so he says a big "Goodbye!" to everybody, before dragging Stefon outside.

And then they're just - outside. The adrenaline that had fueled his run to the church and back to the studio is now slowing in his veins. The Now What? of this situation is starting to leak in.

But he can always count on Stefon. He turns to him and says, "Let's go to my place. It has everything-"

Seth cuts him off. "I'm sure it does. Here's my car." He ushers them to his town car and Ricardo, who steps out and opens the door for them.

Stefon turns to Seth. "But we can just walk or take the Roosevelt Island tram to the Night Bus."

Seth's pretty sure that that last thing is from Harry Potter. "Car is fine," he says, and ushers them both in, Ricardo closing the door behind them. When he gets back in, Seth says, "Ricardo, We're going to - where are we going?" he asks, turning to Stefon.

"Oh, you know, to the old latex pants factory in the gay part of Bushwick."

"Oh, sure," Ricardo replies, and puts them in motion.

"This is really nice," Stefon says softly, a little softer than usual. He puts his fingers to Seth's earlobe and rubs, not normally an obscene gesture, but there's something about the way he does it.

"You've been in here before," Seth says, voice low, his face turned towards him.

"Yeah, I don't really remember that," Stefon replies, his fingers still on Seth. Seth remembers. Ricardo drove them to the airport before two months in Thailand, full of beaches and drugs he can't name or recognize. And sex. Lots of sex. He'd never - with a man - but it was. Well, it was enough to get him to stop a wedding and marry Stefon instead.

Holy fuck. 

He knows his parents will be up, because they always watch the show, and when he calls they get on different extensions. "But you said you and Stefon were just friends," his mother says, accusatory.

He looks next to him before he answers. "Well, we are, Mom, but there's more there."

"I can't believe you'd do something this impulsive, and on live TV," his father says sternly, using the same tone he once used to tell him not to stay out past curfew.

"And you didn't even tell us," his mother adds. "Seth, we could've thrown a lovely reception."

He's sure his mouth is set into a frown. Stefon gestures to give him the phone, and Seth waves him off. Like hell that's happening. But Stefon gets aggressive and pulls it from his hand. "Hi, it's Stefon. I just want you to know, it was a really spur of the moment thing, I didn't even have time to get a wax or go to the mikvah. Uh huh. Uh huh. Okay. Bye!" Stefon hands the phone back. "She says she needs to lay down for awhile. Your dad hung up. That's good, right?"

Not even a little. But, he finds he doesn't even care what his parents think, or what anyone thinks. He makes out with Stefon in the backseat, his hands up the back of Stefon's shirt, stroking the soft skin there.

Eventually they pull up to Stefon's building, an industrial and imposing structure. Seth is, for the first time this evening, frightened.

"Obrigado, Ricardo. Boa noite," Stefon says in Portuguese.

"Good night," Seth says to Ricardo, stumbling out after Stefon. "How do you know Portuguese?" He asks, amused.

Over his shoulder, Stefon replies, "When you spend enough time with Favella de Janeiro, you're bound to pick up a few things." Seth doesn't know what that means, but he does know that the hallway of this building is scary - ill-lit with black lights, neon spray paint on the walls, a couple huddling around what looks like a glass sculpture of Marilyn Monroe retrofitted as a bong, a baby stroller filled with sombrero hats, and a llama. Just a llama. It's the most normal thing here.

Finally they reach Stefon's door, which he throws open. "Home!" It's dark and Seth can't see anything, but he's willing to take on whatever horror shows are here because Stefon's throwing him up against the door and kissing him. This is a fever dream, this can't be real, none of it, but it feels real when Stefon unbuckles his belt, kisses his neck, and murmurs his name against his skin.

It's morning. Seth feels like a truck ran him over. He raises his head slightly, in an unfamiliar bedroom, and goes towards the vertical blinds that are letting in a modicum of light through the floor to ceiling windows. He opens them first, then realizes that he's without a stitch of clothing. Fine. He finds boxer briefs adorned with dragons that are not his and he pulls them up his legs. He opens the blinds again, slowly, and sees industrial Brooklyn folded out before him, then looks behind him. The bed is a wreck, sheets half on the mattress and ripped, a side table on its side.

Memories come flooding back, of the show, of fleeing. Of rough, thorough, loving sex. He lays down on the floor and closes his eyes. Holy. Fuck.

"Morning, Seth Meyers," a light voice chirps. Seth opens his eyes and sees Stefon standing over him. "What are you doing on the floor? I have a perfectly good bed. Or sex swing."

"I need to go back to work, I left pretty quickly and there's a lot to close up." He thinks that's plausible. He gets up slowly, painfully, and grabs his phone off the side table that's right side up and texts Ricardo. 

"You're wearing my underwear."

Seth looks down. That's right. The last series of hours have been a lot of rashly made decisions. 

Stefon approaches him slowly, which is when Seth realizes that he's wearing a pajama set - pants, shirt - in grey. Seeing him in something so sedate is weird. "Just so you know, we can't get an analment. Weddings that take place in front of a live audience are legally binding, and we certainly consummated our marriage."

Seth's head is buzzing. "I think you mean 'annulment.'"

Stefon smiles coquettishly. "I know what I said. I am a lawyer, after all."

Seth smiles. "You are?"

"Well, I'm not practicing, but I'm admitted to the bar."

"Stefon, what do you do?"

"Oh, you know, this and that," he replies before leaving the bedroom. Seth follows him, looking for clothes but not finding them. "I write for Harper's, I dabble in tapestry weaving, I help out with Anthony Weiner's mayoral campaign, I teach sailing to down on their luck rabbits."

"And you're a club promoter who's always high," Seth adds, but before he can get any further he's looking around Stefon's apartment, a beautiful home out of some fancy magazine that Seth has never taken the time to read. "Wow." It's all grey with bright patterns, but not in a garish way. Everything is gleaming clean and tasteful. Tasteful. Stefon's apartment is beautiful and tasteful. It's photo perfect and yet cozy. Comfortable. It's much nicer than Seth's place, and he's a professional comedy writer who's on national TV once a week.

He's trying to recover from the shock of this discovery when Stefon offers him a tea latte. 

With as much dignity as Seth can muster, he asks, "Have you seen my clothes?"

Stefon nods and turns on the juicer. "But you look better like this, Seth Meyers." Seth settles for an apron that says Check Out These Buns and sits down at the breakfast bar.

"I didn't expect this, any of this," Seth says, still glancing around. Eames chairs, wallpaper, bookshelves. Books on those bookshelves.

"What, like getting married?"

Seth takes a sip of the juice Stefon hands to him. He didn't really think they'd get married; he thought he'd settle down with a nice woman, a lawyer or a journalist who's as serious about work as he is; but Stefon had taken root in his heart, unexpectedly and without notice. He makes him feel drunk, out of control, like Stefon had slipped him something and now he's under his spell. 

He hadn't thought about marriage but he'd thought about what a life together might look like.

+

Despite the beautiful apartment and the soul crushing - in a good way - sex, there is a lot to get used to. He'll be on the phone with his brother, or working with animators, and Stefon will come rushing in, needing him. Or he'll creep in at 7:30 in the morning after a night out, mumbling soft apologies under his breath as he gets into bed reeking of gasoline and onions, or soy sauce and roses, or another combination that Seth can hardly understand.

"He has a drug problem," Wiig whispers one night during a dinner. "That can't be good for you."

"He has a terrible drug problem," Seth corrects. "And it has nothing to do with me."

"You're married, moron, that's not how it works." She gives him a look, deep and penetrating, but it doesn't sink in. It's true, Stefon can probably handle more drugs than the entirety of Aerosmith in its heyday, but he is somehow - maybe it's because Seth is used to it, used to seeing him high. Maybe it doesn't matter because it doesn't affect his mood or work. Whatever the reason, it doesn't bother him; it's not like Stefon has a problem that gets in the way of their lives.

+

They go on their honeymoon. Half what Seth wants (Hawaii, beaches, drinks with umbrellas, shower sex) and half what Stefon wants (leather bars, Komodo dragons, drinks given intravenously, militant feminist sex).

On the island of Kauai, Seth gets off the phone with his agent and finally gives voice to what he'd noticed. "Stefon, can you take out the garbage?"

Stefon looks up from his typewriter. (Yes, he brought a typewriter. Apparently he brings it everywhere. Something about Gayngela Lansbury.) "With pleasure," he says, crawling towards Seth, lasciviousness painted onto his face.

"... No. No, I don't know what you mean but I'm talking about the trash. The refuse. Do you - do you get what I'm saying?"

Stefon shakes his head and keeps on his way. Seth doesn't stop him, and lets it happen.

+

It's time to go back to work. The season is starting. And it's the first time he hasn't wanted to go back, hasn't greeted the date with entire anticipation. He likes what the summer brought: a life with Stefon that is indescribable and sometimes not memorable - but only because of whatever drugs they'd taken. 

The season means long hours and time away from his husband, who'd decided to go back to practicing law. Seth thought he knew what that meant, but then he saw Stefon saying into the mirror, "You're out of order!"

The Sunday night before his first Monday back, he's reading the Times and looking at oddball stories covered by Gawker and watching CNN. He's got to get back in the swing, and he's making notes and texting jokes to Baze. He looks over to Stefon, who is reading a biography of Kim Jong Un, his bedazzled reading glasses perched on his nose.

"Are you going out later?" Seth asks.

"No," Stefon replies, turning the page, his eyes on his book.

"I just figured. Sunday night. New York's hottest spot is-"

"I'm tired. I just want a night at home with my husband."

Seth is confused. "Is that the name of a club?"

Stefon sighs and puts his book to the side, pushing his glasses up so that they rest on top of his head, and he looks at Seth with a mix of lucidity and calm that's usually missing. "I'm gonna tell you something, okay?" He climbs into Seth's lap. "New York's hottest club - is here." Stefon traces his fingers over Seth's eyebrows. "This place has everything," he says, smoothing his hands down to Seth's heart. "You, this," he says, his hand running over the crotch of Seth's jeans, "and me." He leans forward and they share an inordinately sweet kiss. "Being monogamous and having sex in only a few different positions? It's so weird. I can't believe I'm normaling," Stefon says as he pulls away from their kiss. "It's weirder than anything else I've ever done."

Seth isn't sure if it's a compliment or not. Probably not. "I don't want you to be something you're not. I want you to be weird, and bizarre, and sometimes horrifying. It's what I love about you."

Stefon unzips Seth's pants. "I'll still go to Pablo Esgaybar, l'll still slurp Chinese food out of people's mouths. I'll still be me," he says sweetly. 

As Stefon eases his pants off, he says, "Good." And it is. And that's the last coherent thing he says for at least ten minutes. 

/end.


End file.
